


Running On Bravado

by CaptainWut



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainWut/pseuds/CaptainWut
Summary: A modern day AU where Malik and Altair are both women, both assassins and both hopelessly want one another. Just neither of them know it.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf & Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Running On Bravado

**Author's Note:**

> Mild mentions of substance abuse involving minor character.

“You whore!” 

It was not often Malik graced Altair’s office with her presence. In all honesty, she’d rather be spotted mugging the homeless, so imagine her surprise when the enraged woman burst through her door huffing like a wild bull and slamming it so hard behind her that the entire office rattled, after announcing for one and all to hear that she was a whore. 

One look at the downright murderous mood on her face was enough to still Altair’s fingers at her keyboard. The client she was responding to could wait, she supposed (if Malik hadn’t killed her by lunchtime, that was). The anger that oozed off her was quickly zapping all life from the room, as the plant slowly wilting away in the corner could attest to. 

“Pleasure to see you too, as always.” 

“You fucking whore,” she reiterated, coming to a stop in front of her desk, Altair’s only shield acting as her defence. She’d made her apprentice, Desmond, freshly polish the gleaming mahogany earlier that morning, proud that he’d managed to get the ink stains and questionable smudges out of it. It was likely about to be ruined though if Malik’s fingers got any closer to the ink pot she was no doubt itching to lob at her. 

Altair leaned back in her chair, stretching one boot over the other and began contemplating what exactly she’d done in the last 1.5 hours of work to be branded a whore (phone calls, emails, handing out assignments to her apprentice – did she accidentally come onto him? No, she’s pretty sure she didn’t do that) before breathing out a long drawn-out sigh when she came up with zilch. 

“Is there a reason you’re calling me this or did the stick up your ass grow a few inches today?” 

“You know full well why La’Ahad. I’m off for one week, _one week_ , and already you’re all over my work like a fucking leech.” 

“Enlighten me as to what exactly it is of yours I would want.” 

“The Knightsbridge informant.” 

“Knightsbridge informant, Knightsbridge informant...” she muttered out loud, feigning temporary memory loss. Okay, maybe she did know why Malik was here reigning down terror in her office at 10 in the morning and not with their colleagues filling up on their third-morning coffee and fighting over the break room pastry selection, and that yes, it was all to do with the Knightsbridge informant. She was aware before she even agreed to take the case that a confrontation was inevitable because Malik had been dealing with the man for months (way too long for contracting any informer) and yet somehow that drove her more to steal it off of her, for reasons she couldn’t entirely answer because she could not pinpoint what possessed her to sign her death warrant by poking the bear. 

“Oh yes, Mr Lionheart. What about him?” 

“You went to dinner with him and sealed the deal.” 

“So...?” 

“That was my informant!” Malik slammed her hands down on the desk and there went the inkpot glugging out all over her papers, spreading across the desk along with her pens that dropped one by one to the floor. Desmond would be overjoyed. Altair wasn’t wholly fazed. Malik was pissed and somehow it was her fault, as it was every day, so what more was new? The only thing to be learnt from this was that Altair should stop using the inkpot as decoration when she had a draw full of biros. 

“The creeds informant”, she corrected. “Rashid asked me to get him on board while you were off work-” 

“My brother was in hospital!” 

“So be thankful I took the stress off of your shoulders.” 

Disbelief slapped across Malik’s face like a wet, smelly fish. The unexpected sound of creaking wood drew Altair’s attention down to Malik’s fingernails, digging painfully into the tabletop so hard that she was worried she would do more damage to the table than herself. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d broken unbreakable objects with her bare hands. Then, from some deep pit of Malik’s body came a maniacal laugh that was more than a bit disconcerting. 

“Be thankful? Fuck you! You knew I was accomplishing that job. Then, as usual, you swan in to take all the credit because god forbid anyone other than the great Altair be the best!” 

“Jeez, it was a simple informant recruitment, Malik, not the crusades. Your upset makes little sense to me.” 

“Nothing makes sense to you, you’re an idiot. You had no business stealing my mission.” 

“Everything here is my business. The master wanted it done. So that’s that,” she smirked because she knew it would annoy Malik all the more. “No need to be jealous, I’m just good at my job.” 

“You’re just a whore good at sucking dick.” 

In a snap second, all the humour sapped out of Altair’s being and Malik was being impaled with a thousand swords in her mind. The clench of her jaw was as tight as a lion hold, all teeth and tense muscle, but it was the only vice holding back the attack that was sure to spill out her mouth if she let it. She was so sick of these rumours. Altair had worked hard to get to where she was today - long hours, extra shifts, dedicated training – when she wanted a job done, she got it done no matter the consequence. She had honed herself to be the best. And then there were the lazy bastards who sat at their desks all day playing Mahjong online, whispering between themselves about how her successes resulted from fucking around the office. 

Put those same bastards in the field with Altair and see where they stood then. 

There was no denying the mentor favoured her, but was it really so strange when no assassin in their firm compared to her skill? When none had done half of what she had achieved by her age? She delivered, and that was all there was to his favouritism. 

But of course, Malik always had to downplay anything she did, being the jealous cow she was. Oh, and she looked so smug with herself standing there like she knew exactly what Altair was: a ‘whore’. Well, Altair would rip that smile to shreds if she carried on. 

“It was a business dinner, nothing else.” 

“Bullshit, I wouldn’t put it past you to fuck the entire floor to get ahead. We all know how reckless you are out there, someone like you wouldn’t be allowed to set foot in the field otherwise. I spent months gaining his trust for information and to sign a contract with me, then after one meeting with you, he suddenly takes your offer and agrees to work with us? Yeah, no, not buying it. You sucked his-“ 

Quicker than Malik could process, Altair was out of her chair with her hands fisted in the button up of her green blouse, threateningly close to her face. 

“I am not a whore. I do not fuck clients for my job, and I never will. But if you’re going to throw around accusations, the only person I’ve ever fucked on the job is you, so really, out of the both of us here who’s the one trying to further their career by fucking their way up the ladder? Because you’re certainly in need of a leg up from the bottom.” 

Malik shoved Altair’s hands off her, face red and at a complete loss of how to navigate _that_ reminder. Well, that shut her up. It was a sore spot, as far as Altair could tell, to admit to ever having slept with her. She imagined it had something to do with her apparent hatred for her, but sex was sex so there was no need for Malik to be so uptight about it. 

Malik’s problem was she liked to be seen as a fine upstanding citizen, with a pristine, methodical, clean-cut reputation – laughable for an assassin. Even her kills were unnecessarily clean, in Altair’s opinion. It was her _thing_. Everyone could count on Malik to be completely professional (some might say anal) in everything she did. So for Malik to entangle herself with a colleague, not only that but a master assassin who was one of, if not, the best? Oh, how the mighty had fallen. It was marvellous to watch the internal struggle that flitted across Malik’s face within those few seconds of silence before she gave up in exchange for her go-to coping mechanism: glaring. 

It’s not like she would tell anyone, and it bugged Altair to no end that this woman could think she’d ever use it against her, or that she didn’t even like to _acknowledge_ it. Ever since that business trip last year in France where they woke up in bed together, both still enemies with the added conundrum of having fucked, Malik had made it a mission to never be caught alone in a room with Altair again - very much unsuccessfully. 

“We were drunk. I don’t even remember it; it was that forgettable so what the fuck does it matter.” 

“ _You_ forgot? The woman who can recall every single slight ever made against her and likely have a catalogue of alphabetised, numerated and time-stamped incidents in your head, forgot? Then let me remind you. I can tell you everything, like how you moaned my name when my fingers made you com- 

She was violently pushed back into her chair. 

“Shut up.” 

“Maybe you forgot that time at the Christmas party too, I fucked you right here on this desk,” she patted the tabletop and Malik glanced at the door afraid someone might walk in. “Or just last month at Mr Greens summer ball, under one of those ridiculous frilly ball gowns. Now that was a good party, certainly unforgettable the things you did with your mouth that night. In fact, now that I think about it, we’ve got up to a lot-” 

“Fine, we fucked. Big deal. Biggest fucking mistake I ever made and I won’t be making it again.” Malik grit out the words, sounding every bit as venomous as a snake. She did not look happy. She looked like something else Altair couldn’t quite believe she was seeing. From the defensive set of her shoulders, the way her arms crossed in front of her like it permitted some kind of distance between them. How she avoided her eyes to glare at the wall behind her and raged at the thought of Altair with her contract. 

“You really are jealous.” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Jealous you think I’d let some moron stick his dick in me for a paycheck.” 

“I don’t give a rats ass who sticks what in you, you stole my informant!” 

“The mentor gave your other jobs to Ezio when you were off. Where’s his lecture and whore calling?” 

If she listened close enough, she was sure she could hear Malik’s teeth grinding together into dust. Ultimately, she had nothing to say to that, much to Altair’s satisfaction. 

“Admit it, you want me.” 

Malik scoffed, backing away with her hands up as the mark of someone who was absolutely done with her. “I don’t want anything to do with you, and if I’m jealous, it’s not _for_ you. It’s because once again you’ve stolen yet another opportunity out from under somebody who cares about their job a hell of a lot more than you and who actually needs to make a living, but no, Altair can do whatever she likes again and the old man will just bow at her feet.” 

“Green isn’t a nice colour on you,” she said, mostly referring to the ghastly grass green blouse she was wearing. 

Malik swung round to leave without another word, not before casting a dark glare in Altair’s direction first. She would probably stew at her desk for the rest of the day. Just when she was about to slam the door closed, Altair pulled out her trump card. 

“There’s a big contract coming up in the Caribbean next month,” she said, casually resuming her letter after she was sure Malik had stopped to listen. “Rashid wants me to entertain with one other person. You’re it. If you want a chance at a promotion, that is.” 

Altair was ready for the slam this time. Not so much for the 60-inch portrait falling off the wall and smashing to the ground. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

~~~~~~~ 

It was 8:50 pm and usually at this time of night Altair would be packing up her backpack and talking about some nonsense or other with Ezio while they waited around for the clock to strike nine. Instead, she was pacing. 

After their little ‘tiff’ Monday morning (one she didn’t think was _that_ big of a deal), Altair had spent the week being ignored by a very prickly, very testy Malik. Something that bothered her only because cajoling the woman made work more entertaining when she didn’t have a field mission to be on, and then Altair would barely have to convince her to a sparring match because Malik would already be raring to go. 

Why did she have to take Malik’s client? Maybe she should have declined and left it for her after all, because now Altair was stewing, and Altair did not _stew_. 

“Godammit Malik,” she muttered aloud, kicking her innocent wheelie chair out of the way. 

This was annoying. Malik was annoying. 

It was fast approaching 8:55, and she needed a plan sharpish. It was a Friday and two days of stewing until Monday was a no go. She’d already spent the past four days doing so to no avail, she’d be damned if she let it continue. 

Mind made up, she grabbed her bag and barged out into the main office. She’d startled a colleague or two but ignored them, her eyes skimming across the cubicles stacked along in monotonous rows throughout the rest of the floor, allocated for those who weren’t higher ranked enough for their own separate office like Altair was. 

Malik’s desk was already empty, devoid of any clutter and asshole-style pristine as usual. It was unlike her to leave anywhere before nine on the dot... 

She had purposely evaded her. 

Altair grit her teeth at the thought Malik could have read her so easily. Well, she couldn’t avoid her forever. She took one look at the lift where a crowd was forming and decided to leg it down the stairs instead. She could jump down a few flights at a time and get to the lobby much faster than waiting in the crowd. 

“Oh hey Alta-,” she breezed past Raufina with a single nod. It was too risky for anything else; a single word would induce a half-hour conversation with that woman. Altair was so relieved she didn’t work in the field often anymore and had become a trainer instead, as past missions had taught her that Rauf had no personal boundaries, no filter nor shame, and would talk to you from a toilet seat with the door wide open if you didn’t yell at her to shut up and close it. She would never share a hotel room with her again. 

At last, reaching the lobby, she groaned when she saw the throng of people congregated in their groups of department or status blocking her way. Despite the obstacle, she was good at spotting anything from afar. Her ability to see things most people couldn’t had earnt her the nickname _‘The Eagle’_ , and as she peered above the crowd to see anything at all, it didn’t take long to catch a glint of the gold cuff Malik wore clasped to the top of her ponytail, her signature black blazer matched with a crisp white shirt, and her sublime hourglass figure that Altair secretly loved to watch walk across the office, wading its way through a dense swarm of people at the rotating doors, all rushing to get out for the weekend ahead. 

Altair hurried on through the crowd, ignoring the irked yelps as she elbowed past and breezed through security. Malik couldn’t have gotten far in the last two minutes. She only needed to know what direction she took home and catch up to her before she left. It didn’t help that she had no idea where she lived or how she even got home. 

Altair looked left, then right. Shit, she couldn’t see her anywhere. 

She paused when she sensed the familiar gaze of somebody out of her peripheral across the street, and Altair knew in an instant exactly who it belonged to. Malik’s deep brown eyes barely widened in surprise when she snatched up to meet them, only dismissive as she turned away quickly, back to a vendor she was buying food from at the falafel stand opposite their building. Before Altair could so much as take a step, Malik was on the move again, food in hand and a swift pace determined to get herself the hell out of there, and as far away from Altair as possible. 

“Malik, stop!” 

Either she didn’t hear or, more likely, chose not to hear her. Considering everyone in the vicinity heard her shout and were now staring at her, she was going to say the latter. With an exasperated grunt, she jogged up beside the frosty woman, falling into step with the click-clack of her heeled boots, which only seemed to move faster. 

“So, it’s a Friday,” she stated, expecting Malik to acknowledge her even if it were in anger. 

“Which means drinks amongst colleagues.” 

“...” 

“And forgetting all the stresses of the workweek.” 

“...” 

“With a drink. And food. Are you listening?” 

“Do you know what else people do on a Friday night?” Malik finally spoke up but didn’t falter a single step, her march militant as ever. From where they were headed, Altair could guess Malik got a train home from work then. 

“What?” 

“Get laid. If you think for one second I would fall for this charade you’re a bigger fool than I thought and trust me that’s a lot.” 

“There you go with the sex, again. Do you think of nothing other than who I’m fucking-” 

Malik whirled around so fast Altair barely ducked in time to avoid the bag coming full pelt toward her face. That was not the intended attack, however. She was unnerved to find that Malik had anticipated her actions and latched out to grab a hold of her fingers when she stepped right into the space Malik had predicted her to move into. 

“I will break your fingers. _Again_.” 

“You could do with a drink.” 

“You don’t even like drinking with colleagues, at least attempt to be consistent, dumbass.” 

True, she loathed small talk and forced niceties - but this was Malik. She needn’t bother with social etiquette. 

“We need to talk; I don’t ask out of enjoyment.” 

“Hah! We need to talk,” she mocked. “Talk about what? I’ve got the weekend ahead of me and I don’t need you to spoil it with the idiocy that comes out of your mouth.” 

“You’re still holding my hand.” 

“Ugh!” Malik flung her hand away as if stung and hastily made a retreat, Altair trailing behind her. 

What _did_ they need to talk about? Altair had chased off after Malik on a whim she hadn’t figured out any clear intentions of, other than wanting Malik to stop ignoring her for the sake of...what exactly? Forgiveness? She’d done worse things than steal a contract. Friendship? They weren’t even friends (if they were then it had to be the strangest friendship she’d ever been a part of, not that she had much experience with friends). Sex? That was a possibility. Most women were easily turned off by her personality that it was hard to get laid sometimes. It’s not that she was rude or anything, it’s that they _thought_ she was rude when Altair was just being considerate of everybody’s time and that it would be much simpler to just cut to the chase without having to answer some pointless questions about what her work involved, whether she had a pet, or if knitting interested her, only to get laid. If she had to hazard a guess though, she reckoned Malik wasn’t too dissimilar to her in that department. Pleasant enough as she could be (to anybody that was not Altair), her berating nature often got in the way of a good time. The way Altair saw it, this was a tit for tat deal. They were simply doing one another a favour – why end it over a minor issue such as this one? 

Then she realised an offer that would grab Malik by the non-existent balls. 

“The Caribbean.” 

Malik stopped. 

Altair watched as the rigid line of her back wavered, curiosity peeping through the cracks of her staunch attitude. From behind it looked like it was taking all the resolve in her body not to turn around, but when intrigue won over, she let her shoulders drop and turned to level Altair a look of utter disdain, and demanded, “What about it?” 

“Come and I’ll tell you.” 

“Goodbye, La’Ahad,” she said, marching on once more. Altair was losing her patience. 

“If you value a promotion, you’ll want to hear what I’m offering.” 

“You’re not my boss.” 

“Good enough as. I’m in charge of our floor and am of master status, meaning you do what I say. So, given that you have as much influence in the creed as my little toenail, you best show me the respect my position demands if you want to get somewhere in life.” 

Malik turned on her again, Altair expecting the brunt force of her rage to unleash and for a scene to unfold right there in the busy streets where so many of their colleagues passed them by. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. Malik had some sense to stop and disengage, even if it looked like she’d love nothing better than to shove her into the path of a moving truck. 

She stood rigid, contemplating between Altair and her route home, calculating the best course of action. 

Giving in was not in her nature, so Altair was mildly stunned when Malik turned back to her and muttered the words “You’ve half an hour”, and breezed past her in what she knew to be the direction of the _‘Levantine Lounge’_ on the next street. Altair had to try not to look too triumphant lest Malik saw her and changed her mind. 

~~~~~~ 

Once there, naturally, Malik ordered the most expensive drink on the menu, lamb kofta, maqluba, a spicy chicken burger with two servings of chips, four different starters, a mixed mezze sharer and a few ideas in mind for dessert later, following it up with, “you’re paying, ‘ _boss_ ’” and not giving a damn about the raised eyebrows she got from both Altair and the waiter. 

It’s not that she was hungry (she’d literally ate minutes before), but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to milk Altair dry for being a grade A dickhead thinking she could use her position to get Malik to fall in line. 

Who was she kidding? Altair could afford most, if not everything, in the bar. She was the most successful assassin in the creed, and that was a position worthy of more than anything Malik earned. Given that she didn’t splash her cash about either, Malik could guess she was sitting on a fortune. 

Altair bought chicken shish kebab for herself and a tray of shots to go along with it. 

“That’s a bit much to drink for half an hour.” 

“Dealing with you they’re not enough,” she muttered just loud enough for Malik to hear. Holding back the strong urge to throw the entire tray up into her face so she wouldn’t get banned from one of the few bars in the area that served decent food, Malik shouldered past her toward a booth in an out-of-the-way corner, one they always frequented whenever they came here. To discuss work, of course. 

The restaurant never ceased to impress her. Its extravagant set up looked like something out of an Arabian fantasy, so much so she’d stopped dead in the doorway the first time Altair had invited her to this place. Thin silks of burnt orange draped from the ceiling centre outward towards Moroccan red walls and white pillars, and each booth was sectioned off by intricately carved screen dividers. It was for the benefit of the guests who wanted a little more privacy than the patrons seated in the middle of the room, enjoying the music and belly dancers that came out for the Friday crowd. Malik had yet to watch the entertainment as Altair always requested private. Not that she needed to make a request. How Altair found a place such as this when she barely paid any heed to food, except for the fact it was needed sustenance to survive, was outlandish, but the staff welcomed her like an old friend and always had a private booth available for her. 

The dimmed lighting felt intimate, and the instrumental of a darbuka, ney and oud trio playing an enchanting beat overhead made the atmosphere even more inviting while everyone was taking the time to unwind after a hard week’s work with food, drink or shisha before moving onto whatever the night had to offer. Her mood was the only thing killing it. 

As soon as Altair walked over and set down the tray, Malik grabbed one of her shots - an equaliser for her snide comment. _She_ was the one who needed it to deal with Altair, not the other way around. 

“Malik, you-” 

“It’s Malika.” 

“You said you prefer Malik.” 

“Not from you. After all, you are my boss, apparently. Can’t have you being overly familiar with your subordinate now, Miss La’Ahad.” 

‘Malik’ was familiar, it was a name she only granted to family, friends and close colleagues – not the likes of Altair who was blankly staring at her, and Malik watched on in hidden satisfaction as she attempted to reroute the course of her approach with whatever she had to say, but Malik wasn’t expecting wonders. 

“Malik _a_ , you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” 

“You know what? You’re right, me caring about my paycheck is so very overdramatic. I’ll make sure to get over it. Thank you so much for your fantastic insight, Altair,” she deadpanned, necking back the shot and grimacing at the bitter edge. 

“You still get paid by the hour.” 

“With no commission.” 

“Let’s get real here, this isn’t about money, is it?” 

“What did you want to discuss about the Caribbean?” 

Altair smirked from behind an embarrassing concoction Malik had selected for her. Something too florescent to be good for you and with more umbrellas than alcohol. Not only did it look ridiculous, but she wished at least one of the frilly sticks would poke her eyes out. 

“I have a four-day mission to the Bahamas at the end of next month. We’ve been requested by Edward Kenway to deal with an old enemy of his by the name of Julien du Casse who’ll be staying there on business.” 

“What business is that?” 

“Power boating. He works as a trader for a company called Fortune Fleets, has done for the last two years. It’s one of the biggest suppliers in boats for offshore racing and given that the Bahamas have an annual race happening while he’s there chances are he’ll be buying and selling whatever he can.” 

“I’ve heard of them,” Malik said, recalling the name in a magazine floating around the office. A fishing company that had recently hit the big time when it turned its trade to powerboats when the grandson that inherited the business sold it on to some firm. “So, he trades boats for them? Boat parts? Supplies racing organisations?” 

“Maybe, but rumours are he’s a Templar, and his trade is a lot larger than just boats. Humans, animals, drugs, sex, weapons, you name it. I imagine his works allows him to travel the world doing all sorts of deals. Kenway dealt with him a few years back when he caught him trying to steal his prize ship so no shock he’s hated him since, but he has kept an ear out for anything suspicious sounding about him which he now has proof for. There’s a boat club he has close ties to that tipped him off about some suspicious questions du Casse has been asking. They said that he was looking to sell anything they wanted in exchange for information on west indie gang connections – most of which are linked to sex trafficking and drugs.” 

Malik gave pause, placing her drink down on the table and levelled her with a stern look. “Altair, we don’t work on rumours.” 

“Did you miss the part where I said the information comes from close ties with Kenway? Whatever he knows is good enough proof as any.” 

“That’s not proof at all, that’s hearsay. If you were looking for gang information, would you honestly be so dense as to outright ask for it like that? You need hard evidence first before you fly off the handle at the word of a half-mad, self-declared pirate.” 

“An investigation would be a waste of time. The proofs there in plain sight and not just in the account from Kenway. The targets known associates are all connected to Templar organisations, unexplainable abduction and death follow him wherever he goes. There’s nothing to investigate, all we need is to capture him for information on what exactly he’s up to, what Fortune Fleet’s involvement is and kill him.” 

“Oh okay, so you have physical proof that’s not just word of mouth?” 

“No -” 

“Then it’s not that fucking simple, novice. There is no physical proof. None. I might as well say the chefs a Templar and have you go in the kitchen all guns blazing.” 

Altair clenched her fist tighter around her glass in absolute aggravation that Malik thought it’d crack. Anyone else and they might have bowed down to such a pathetic display of intimidation. Malik noted she was oddly quick to anger over something they hadn’t even scratched the surface of, as if she’d already had her hackles at the ready...then it dawned on her that it was probably not the first time Altair was hearing this. Chances are she’d already been told by the mentor to investigate instead of ruthlessly capture and kill, and she wasn’t happy about it. Malik confirming it had only served to piss her off further. 

In fact, she was starting to see the conversation for what it was: 

Altair was looking for a partner. Altair didn’t have partners unless Rashid made her take one (or on the rare occasion she requested one for a particular purpose). Rashid made her take one when he disagreed with Altair’s plan of action and needed someone to monitor her. 

A.K.A - Babysit. She was being summoned to _babysit_. 

Same shit, different day it seemed. Malik couldn’t believe how one full-grown person could be so difficult that even the mentor had to put precautions in place. 

“Face it, you’ve got a lot more work to do.” 

“Fine.” Altair muttered darkly, relinquishing the too-tight hold of her glass. “We’ll present ourselves as buyers interested in working with du Casse and oust him that way. Shouldn’t be that hard.” 

“And what would you know about boats? Powerboats at that?” 

“I know how to mow a person down with one.” 

“Sounds about right.” Malik rolled her eyes. Just once she’d like Altair not to make her jump through hoops for even the simplest of information, but keeping secrets was her expertise. By now she was used to Altair’s aversion with the finer details of her missions that a response like that should have been expected, but it still left her frustrated. She sighed and took a long swig from her drink as an uncomfortable silence settled between them, one she thought was mutual annoyance shared by the both of them, but sneaking a glance in Altair’s direction she was stumped to see a rare flash of hesitation there behind the visage, something she couldn’t remember ever seeing on the other woman’s face before. She burnt with interest when Altair opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, closed it, and then opened it again. 

“My father was a marine mechanic. He taught me a few things. I can hold my own with the jargon if you’re not confident enough.” Then she frowned, looking downright confused with herself. Whatever she’d said had clearly sparked some unwanted feeling Malik couldn’t read. “That was unnecessary, forget I said anything.” 

“A marine ...mechanic?” Malik asked, intrigued. No one had heard a single smidgen of information about Altair’s family, ever. It was just one of those things. Some people told everyone about their families and the activities they got up to, while some kept to themselves divesting the minimum such as a birthday or anniversary they’d recently celebrated. Then there was Altair, who treated you with the utmost suspicion if you so much as asked her what she got up to over the weekend. Given she liked to strut around like royalty, she’d assumed her parents were either rich, famous or massive assholes. And then, upon dissecting that little piece of information, Malik burst out laughing at the irony of Altair knowing anything about boats and growing up around them. “You’re terrified of water and your dad works with boats?” 

“I’m not terrified of water.” 

“Yes you are, you absolutely fucking hate it.” 

“It’s merely unpleasant to get wet on a job and be weighed down by heavy clothing.” 

“So unpleasant it causes you to panic and flap around like a drowning cat?” 

“I do not- look it doesn’t matter, we don’t need to know about boats. Playing dumb will probably get us further if we act like we’ve no clue what we’re doing and need his help.” 

“What I don’t understand,” Malik began, boxing away that information for another day, “is why we’re being called to the task. Kenway’s family always deal with business out there, surely they can deal with the target themselves.” 

“That’d be too obvious. They need someone the target won’t recognise off the bat. Besides, this guy is friends with his son or some joke like that, so he doesn’t want his death linked back to him. They have a rocky relationship as it is from what I’ve heard.” 

“So considerate of him to worry about his son when he orders a hit on his human trafficking friends. Father of the year right there.” 

“Yes, well, it’s not just his son. The mentors had his eyes on Fortune Fleets for the last two years now. A no-name fishing company that’s suddenly the biggest supplier in offshore boats within that space of time sounds fishy as fuck, and Rashid thinks Kenway has intel on them we could work for. We can go find out more about what Kenway knows as well as wine and dine some donkey to get what we can out of him.” 

“I wasn’t aware we were watching this company.” Malik frowned. She wouldn’t have forgotten something like that. It made little sense to dog a company who wasn’t even in their faction unless they carried a large threat or had certain information only they would want, so she would have remembered a meeting about Fortune Fleets. 

“Of course you’re not, it’s a top-secret case. Only master assassins are open to that information.” 

“... Except for now because you’ve just told me.” She stated pointedly, not only bewildered but also very concerned how Altair of all people could fuck up and divulge classified information at the drop of a hat when she knew it went against protocol. 

Across from her, she was met with pensive silence. 

Altair was taking her damn time to put thought to word while her fingers fiddled with one of the mini umbrellas, bending the wooden body to the point of strain but resisting snapping it in two. She didn’t look as concerned as Malik had thought was called for, but she didn’t look entirely comfortable either. 

“I know. It is necessary knowledge for the mission. Rashid said I can take anyone I deem trustworthy enough for the task – he will understand why I told you.” 

They were left awkwardly sipping their drinks, the painful acknowledgement of trust and respect between two long-time rivals permitting the air thick between them, both intent on ignoring the uncommon kind words exchanged. Thankfully, the moment was saved when the waiter came bounding along, energetic and way too smiley for two miserable sods such as themselves, yapping away about how good the food was and that no other place served dishes like it, before placing the meals down on the table. It would have been irritating if the interruption weren’t so welcomed. When he went whistling off back to the kitchens, they both switched plates over to their correct place. 

“He’s clearly been smoking something,” Malik said, taking a bite, “but it is good food. Anyway, I’m sure your apprentice would love the holiday. Take him with you.” 

“Desmond’s not experienced at big missions yet, he’d fuck it up. He tries to make all these jokes when he’s anxious and ends up looking like an ass instead. Besides, he doesn’t have a vagina, and that is vital for this mission.” 

Malik promptly choked on her food and said, with all the dryness of a desert, “It’s charming to know you picked me for this mission based on my exceptional skill and intelligence. But of course, who needs those silly things when you have tits.” 

“In this case, yes. Our target doesn’t care for much else but a woman’s body. You could say he’s got his fingers in all the pies.” Altair paused, thinking to herself. “His sword cannot be pulled from the stone. Enjoys a tuna taco for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Dabbles in a bit of clam digging- 

“Yes, okay, you can stop now, I understood you the first time. He’s a sleazebag.” 

“His love will be his demise.” 

“By now you sound envious.” 

“Possibly.” 

“Great so all we have to do is throw ourselves at a perverted Templar. You should have said sooner, I’d love to come! I can’t wait to pack my bags so I can flaunt around the Bahamas in next to nothing to be leered and groped at.” 

Malik was sure she caught Altair entertaining the image if her faraway look was anything to go by, but she ploughed on with her pitch before her daydreaming became too suspicious. 

“This is the biggest mission of the year, Malik. I’ve had Rashid emailing me every week for the past three months about it, and that guy barely knows how to turn on a computer, let alone log into his mail. That’s how important this is. Pull this off and he reckons we’ll be able to get a foot in the door on unmasking what’s going on behind the scenes at Fortune Fleets. Think about it, you’d be looking at master assassin status and a hefty pay rise seeing as you’re so concerned about money these days.” 

“This is to do with the apple isn’t it.” 

“When is it not to do with the apple?” 

Malik sighed. She knew the entire thing had sounded like a lot to be gambling on a mere ‘rumour’ – bring the apple into the equation, and it all made sense. A run of the mill unheard of templar wouldn’t be given the time of day by their faction, let alone higher-ranking assassins otherwise. The mentor had been going on about this damnable apple forever. An old relic, with the power to control the minds of men, lost for years. He’d always been into some weird ancient shit. Personally, she thought it was long gone (if it were even real) and should stay that way, but if it meant a promotion, she’d go along with the ramblings of an old man to get where she needed. 

It sounded like the opportunity she’d been waiting for, a chance to prove her place in the brotherhood as well as moving up the ladder. She was sick of being treated as second class when she did everything by the book to the best ability, and then the likes of Altair always won out in the end, all while breaking every single tenant imaginable. 

Then there was the second pressing matter of money. 

She needed it. 

Badly. 

For the last few years, unbeknownst to Malik, trouble had been brewing obscure and worm-like in the mind of her little brother. Problems that had piled atop each other little by little until the dam couldn’t withstand the cracks any longer and its thick built walls crumbled. 

Their parent’s death, immediately followed by Kadar being plucked from the familiarity of their quiet countryside town to the vastly different bustling city life where Malik worked, had been hard for him. Add in the stresses of starting a new school and making new friends, and anyone would feel anxious about all the changes they were facing. Or perhaps it had started even further back, farther than she’d like to go. Back to their home country of Syria where all they knew was left to ruin; their home, their town, their entire world. The memories of a beloved playground full of laughing children, or the colourful souk that came to life every day with its charismatic tradesmen and jubilant old ladies, replaced by visions of fire and dust, screams and explosions from the horrors they fled. Kadar had taken a long time to stop looking so lost after that, too young to even comprehend what had happened. She’d stupidly thought time had healed the wound. 

Then, of course, Malik was here there and everywhere for her job. Kadar went days, sometimes weeks at a time by himself. She regretted it now. It was her escape from facing her parent’s death and avoiding painful discussion, throwing herself into work and the competition that came with mastering the field. He was only a child. He shouldn’t have been left without her guidance. Kadar was 16 when he came to live with her, and for the two years since, he seemed like a teen all too happy to be with his friends, doing whatever it was teenage boys did. He was always smiling, always chatting away about something or other, and to all that he knew, he seemed to be thriving. 

She could not have been more wrong. Malik had been about to begin a mission to Cairo for a few days when she found out just to what extent she’d been wrong. 

It was while waiting in the queue to have her passport checked, along with her mission partner, that her phone rang. She’d ignored it at first because she didn’t recognise it, but then it rang two, three times with no pause in between and she picked up the line fully expecting some nuisance scam caller to be on the other end. 

Instead, it was the local hospital telling her her brother was in intensive care and that she urgently needed to come to the hospital. 

She’s not sure what her mission partner must have thought, or even cared, but she’d ran out of there so fast she was lucky security didn’t stop her. Thoughts of road accidents, a house robbery gone wrong all shot through her mind, but what the doctors told her was far from anything she was ever expecting 

Alcohol poisoning, drugs in his system, and self-harm evident by the gnarly indented old scars along his arms that tracked down to fresher ones where his wrists were bandaged in gauze. What the fuck had she walked into? He was lucky to be alive, lucky Malik herself hadn’t killed him for taking substances she had taught him repeatedly was wrong – but one look at the shame on his face once he’d come out of his sedated haze had broken her heart. 

That entire day was surreal in her mind. Seeing Kadar beaten and broke on a hospital bed spilling his guts after years of bottling himself up had been eye opening and she didn’t want to see him like that again. 

He’d claimed it was friends that had gotten him into drugs, that it was only a cool thing to do at parties. But they weren’t low-class drugs, and he hadn’t only done it at parties. He’d gone to friends’ homes, strangers’ houses and, although he never admitted it, she questioned if he did it in her home too. That was more than a simple cool thing to do. Then, of course, the self-harming spoke for itself – he had a problem and she’d failed to notice. 

Malik was the only person he had, and she had utterly failed as a sister. 

Over the days he lay there and at home recovering, she’d learnt there was no happiness, no coping, and no friends. Not real ones, anyway. Just people who took advantage of his naivety and readiness to please by the notion of friendship. Even now, after his stint in the hospital, he still couldn’t see them for what they were. They’d hid him in an alley waste bin to die when he’d needed an ambulance, for god’s sake. What kind of friends did that?! 

Maybe it wasn’t Malik’s proudest moment tracking down each of the assholes who used him and beating them to a pulp, but it certainly made her feel better. Besides, it was the least of their troubles. While they were busy getting ready to start university, planning to make something of their lives and having a blast – Kadar was left behind a shell of himself and hermitized in his home, no thanks to them. Though really, they weren’t the only ones to blame. She was so ashamed she never noticed a thing, but she was determined to help him in his recovery and throw everything she had into his healing. 

Rehab would not be cheap, medications would not be cheap, and a top-notch psychiatrist wasn’t either. The cost it took to be sound of mind was fucking insane. That and her bills would take a knock from missing work and failing to turn up to the mission in Cairo that had to be completely scrapped. 

She couldn’t stay out long as it was. She shouldn’t even be here altogether. Kadar may be out of the hospital, but she didn’t trust him to be alone until she could get him proper help and the neighbour couldn’t check on him for her all night. That was another issue. What if she did go, would the neighbour agree to keep an eye on him for that length of time? 

Could she even commit to becoming a master assassin with Kadar’s problems? 

Malik could feel herself being swayed by the opportunity. It would be stupid not to take the chance when the outcome would help Kadar, and the money she needed for his health was important. An important contract would be a blessing right now. 

“I know I said think about it but this is a lot longer than I was expecting”. She jumped when Altair interrupted her train of thought, watching her over her drink. 

It looked like she was going to the Bahamas. 

Malik at last nodded. “Fine, I’ll go. But this is strictly business. No need for you to harass me on my own time while we’re there.” 

“I don’t harass you,” Altair frowned. 

“Then you’ll have no problem not interacting outside the contract. The Caribbean could be a nice getaway without you being a pain in my ass.” 

“So who do you plan on hanging out with in a country you’ll know next to no one in?” 

“Maybe a nice barmaid or two.” 

Altair sneered. “Smile more and you might be in with a one percent chance.” 

“It’s not hard to smile around tolerable people who don’t stab their colleagues in the back.” 

“For the last time, Rashid asked me to take over your contract. I didn’t exactly have a choice! You were taking too long to get it done.” 

That was the wrong thing to say. Malik was seconds from blowing a gasket. 

“I was being careful not to bring someone untrustworthy into the order. I was slowly prying information from him. Pray tell, Altair, what did you pry from him other than his dick?” 

“Give me a break, I did nothing with your informant.” 

“I don’t care.” 

She necked back another shot, relishing in the tingle that swept through her body. It was a welcome feeling compared to Altair’s unwelcome being, to set her irritation at bay. 

“Your precious informant signed on the condition I would get off his back if he made a quick deal. He drew out the entire process with you because for some crazy reason he liked you. And all those dinners? All those drinks? That was his way of stringing you along for your company, insufferable as it is. You were dating the guy in his eyes. A simple knife to the throat is a much quicker and highly effective threat I find.” 

Malik stared across the table, the colour draining from her cheeks with each word. 

“What?” 

“He liked you. He was seducing you.” 

“No he- that’s... that’s..” 

That was utterly preposterous. He couldn’t have been interested in her. He was friendly of course but loads of them were. It was the nature of the assassin/informer relationship, especially when recruiting an informer who had many connections and required extra sucking up to. Nothing more, nothing less. They’d go to restaurants, bars, the cinema, maybe even the park if that was the informer’s kind of scene instead, wasting away the afternoon sitting on a quiet bench together watching the ducks swim across the lake- 

Oh god. They _were_ practically dating. 

In the months Malik was first sent out for him, she’d come back to the office later than expected, or with worthless gifts that would go straight in the bin unless they were food. And the smell of that god-awful cologne that stuck to her clothes...she usually wouldn’t care but given Altair wouldn’t stop commenting on the fact she smelt like burnt logs and pickled vegetables every time they fucked after one of her meetings with him, she couldn’t ignore it all the time. 

How could she not of seen this?! She’d been so fixated on getting the contract signed she barely paid attention to anything but the end goal, only thinking he was a hard deal to crack who would eventually give in if she went along with his challenges and the money the creed could pay him. She was a fool. She’d been strung along for months and Altair had come along and scooped her right up out of that one within a few hours, and that was just fucking embarrassing. 

“Drink?” 

She’d been staring at the wall in full descended confusion for who knows how long when Altair pushed the tray of shots under her nose, Malik making a grab for it like she’d never been more grateful for alcohol in her life. 

“So, as I stopped the mentor from going ballistic on you for taking months to do something that should have taken five minutes, don’t you have something to say to me?” 

“You didn’t predict that outcome, who’s to say he wouldn’t have strung you along for months either. You still took the job,” she shrugged half-hearted, but her enthusiasm to argue had wavered. Altair huffed, sitting back in her chair pissed off. Maybe she did feel bad accusing her of sleeping with the guy. Threatening his life as she’d said was way more up her street, and the master was less short with her since the contract had been signed. It was feeling bad that was the only explanation she could summon for what she did next, because she wouldn’t have done it any other way. 

Peering through the booth dividers at the other customers to make sure no one was looking their way, Malik snaked her hand under the table to grasp Altair’s knee and squeezed quickly before snatching it away. Altair’s eyes snapped back to hers taken aback but before she could say a word Malik thrust a plate of chips in her face. “Are you going to eat or what?” 

Something equally astounding, apparently. Altair stared at her like she had two heads. No matter what anyone said, Malik did share food sometimes. 

“Is that permission or are you going to blame me for stealing in about five minutes?” 

“Take whatever, there’s a shit ton.” 

And as she picked her burger up to take a bite, she was mortified to find Altair leaning over to take a bite from the other side. Fuck, she hoped none of their colleagues were in the room. 

“Everything but that.” 

“Mmm, your burger tastes good. Warm. Moist.” 

Malik grabbed a fistful of chopped lettuce from a salad bowl and threw it at her, groaning at how goddamn cheesy she was. 

“Why do I put up with you... Never repeat those words ever again, I’m not nearly drunk enough for your company.” 

“Then drink up.” 

“Half an hour remember.” 

“We’ve still got plenty of time,” Altair clinked her glass to hers and they both downed their drinks. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

Malik was slammed unceremoniously against the mirrored walls inside the lift of her apartment building, Altair following quickly after to keep her pinned there with hungry kisses and hurried hands. 

Somewhere between the fourth shot and her third side order, Malik had started enjoying herself more than was adequate for a quick drink. She was enjoying herself so much in fact that they’d completely lost track of time, spent 2-hours drinking at the bar chatting about absolutely nothing important, then moved onto a club with too much dancing and too much bodily contact that naturally they took their party of two back to Malik’s at one in the morning. Was there a more perfect way to round off such a shit week? 

She was willing to fuck out (rug sweep) her frustrations over the informant misunderstanding, and Altair’s body offered the best remedy to that. Long legs, slender body, nice toned... well, everything. Nothing was uninviting to the eye. Even the scars of her body looked artful in a way – and there Malik was with her heavily burnt arm like a beacon eyesore, thicker muscles and thicker hair that stubbled within hours of shaving. People like Altair were just that lucky in life, no matter how undeserving. 

Subconsciously she ran her fingers through Altair’s chestnut hair, pausing on one side to grasp the soft downy ends that had grown out from a side shave weeks before, enjoying the fluffy feel when she mussed it up. Sometimes, if Altair were feeling in the mood for something different, she’d work in a fine braid down the parting to divide the shave from the rest of her long hair which Malik found damn adorable, but mostly she couldn’t be bothered. 

The lift dinged open, and they were battling their way down the hallway with weapons of lips, hands and well-placed thighs up toward Malik’s door when Altair stopped. 

“What?” She huffed impatiently, dragging her down by the neck to wheel her back in again. 

“Someone’s watching us.” 

Shoving Altair off of her as if being caught in liaison with the devil, Malik followed her line of sight to the door next to hers. Mrs Dibble, her neighbour, was staring wide-eyed and gob smacked at them from her doorway. 

“Mrs Dibble,” Malik smiled back sheepishly. It was time to disappear into her apartment. She searched through her bag for her keys and hurriedly jammed them into the dodgy lock that more often than not was a pain by not opening when you most wanted it to. The cat in her arms also seemed disturbed to a degree; a first for a cat that usually looked at her the same way it did its litter tray. 

“Thank you so much for watching Kadar, I appreciate it.” She would appreciate it more if Altair would get her bloody hands off of her waist and her lips off of her neck until they got inside. “I hope he was no trouble?” 

No response. Just as well, they had no time for conversation, and Malik did not want to talk about the 13 cats she insisted on narrating the lives of to her whenever they crossed paths when that wasn’t the type of pussy she had in mind right now. She would have to regret it all in the morning, until then she needed to get Altair inside and out of her clothes this instant. 

Finally, the temperamental lock clicked open, the shocked old woman taking no notice as they both threw a half-hearted wave at her, and Malik pulled Altair through the door only to grab her and push her up against it once it shut. 

“You did that on purpose.” 

“Probably the only action she gets to see these days,” Altair smirked. 

She nipped Altair’s bottom lip as punishment – a useless one that only spurred her on, moaning delightfully into the kiss and grabbing her ass to draw her in closer. Malik would love nothing more than to drag her across the room and fuck her right there on the sofa, to commit one smooth motion from door to surface with no breaks. Just the simple push, pull of two people rutting like animals - but she could faintly hear Kadar playing video games off down the hallway and she didn’t want him to walk out to find her or Altair’s bare ass sullying the sofa. 

“Come on”, she whispered, throwing her bag aside and grabbing Altair’s hand to lead her to her room. They reached two steps only for the idiot to stumble drunkenly over a pot plant and scatter mud across the floor. 

“Shh! You need to be quieter.” 

“What I need is to take your clothes off.” 

Hands weaved around her waist, unzipping her trousers and slipping in to rest atop her underwear, fingers running up and down the thin material. The thrill of her hand purely being there, the excitement that churned between her legs was so overpowering Malik couldn’t summon the shame when she pushed back longingly into Altair’s hold, wetness seeping through the fabric to welcome the touch. It had Altair responding with a dirty purr in her ear, “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

_God yes_ , but she needed just that tiny ounce of control to last her the next five minutes so she could check in on Kadar without looking like a hot mess. 

They stumbled their way down the hall to her bedroom, every step every creek amplified in their drunken state. Malik took great care to be light-footed. Then there Altair was stomping along like a goddamn elephant for all and sundry to hear. A true master assassin in her element indeed. 

They reached her door, Malik pulling the other into her box of a room, too-tidy from being barely lived in except for sleeping. Her days were mostly spent in the office or jetting off to where the next mission demanded of her that sleep was all she needed. 

“A single bed?” Altair snorted, looking around at her sad display of a bed, bookcase and wardrobe. “Accurate representation of your love life.” 

“I didn’t invite you here to talk about furniture. Or anything at all.” 

Altair turned back to her, a wicked spark lighting up her eyes as she pulled off her hoodie, flung it on the floor and stalked towards her like a predator ready for the kill. Well, she’d just have to wait. 

Malik shut the door in her face. 

First, she needed to check in on Kadar and make sure he would not come looking for her. He picked his moments (adapt to waking her up in the middle of the night for the most peculiar reasons), so she didn’t want him to see anything that’d scar them both for life, but it was best he not know she had company. She’d practically helped raise him before moving out – there was no way she was ever discussing sex with him, despite his over avid interest in Malik’s non-existent love life. 

Inhaling a long, cool breath, she fetched her bag and attempted to act natural as she headed off for his door that stood open at the end of the corridor, knocking to get his attention. 

“Hey, I’m home.” 

Kadar glanced up from his seat cross-legged on the floor in front of his tv, pausing whatever game he was playing to offer a tired smile. It was a common sight these days to be welcomed by eyes sunken and dull, like he’d barely slept. 

“Thought I heard you. You’re back late, don’t you finish at nine?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I had a meeting.” 

“At this time of night?” 

“It was a late dinner meeting with a client.” She brushed off. “I’ve brought you back some leftovers.” 

Malik walked over and dumped the bag beside him, Kadar smiling approvingly as he dived into it, more than happy to devour anything right now. 

“Woah did you buy the entire restaurant or something, there’s tons in here!” 

“Let’s just say they were a very generous client. Good day?” 

“Playing and eating junk is always a good day.” He said, shrugging his shoulders like it were obvious. “Maybe not so much for Mrs Dibble, she wasn’t so happy about coming back and forth to check on me.” 

“Mmmm, we’ll have to make it up to her.” She felt they’d possibly reached the end of their favours with Mrs Dibble anyway, given her current predicament. Kadar was eyeing her very closely, she noticed, when he sniffed the air and squinted at her with amused suspicion. 

“Are you drunk?” 

“Drunk? No, of course not!” 

Technically, she wasn’t. She had relegated back to being tipsy about 20 minutes ago when she and Altair were making out in the frozen cold waiting for a taxi. 

“I’m tired, that’s all.” 

“Okay... it’s just your flies are undone and your make up is smudged really badly.” 

Malik trained every muscle in her body not react no matter what, dying a little inside and repressing the urge to shout fuck aloud. Instead, she casually leaned against the door frame, zip fully open and coolly met Kadar’s gaze, both looking back and forth between one another. 

“I came from the bathroom, no point in zipping up if I’m about to change is there?” 

Malik nodded, impressed with herself. Nicely handled. Even in her state she could pull off a convincing lie, but her head was hurting with all the nodding which she was doing for way too long and her vision didn’t like it at all so she stopped, especially because Kadar was giving her the oddest look. 

“Right... And the makeup?” 

“Bad quality, abysmal. Never buying this brand again. Interestingly, did you know-” 

No, he did not know. Kadar knew next to nothing about makeup. All she had to do was rattle on about lipstick, mascara, brow liners, and already he was gluing his eyes back to the tv and stuffing a hand into the bag again. 

“I see,” he cut her short, with a peculiar little smirk playing across his face. “Don’t let me keep you then. Have a good night, Malik.” 

“See you in the morning,” she replied, closing the door followed by a sigh of relief. 

That went well, she thought. Kadar was none the wiser and too busy killing people to come and disrupt her if he thought she was sleeping, so she was all clear for the rest of the night, her belly flip-flopping in anticipation for what was to come. 

Malik quickly made off back to her room, thumbing the doorknob open and expecting to find Altair where she left her on the other side. 

It was empty. 

“Altair?” She hissed, flicking on the light. “Altair you sack of shit, you better be in here.” 

Throwing the door closed behind her, she crossed to the bed, peering under the overhanging duvet. For whatever reason, she thought maybe Altair was hiding under it to be an asshole, but to no avail, she wasn’t there. Malik groaned, kicking the bedside table with no real force (though the urge to destroy it was high). She was frustrated in every sense of the word – mind and body frazzled by a tempestuous month of a failed mission to Cairo resulting in disciplinary action, Kadar winding up in hospital close to death, stolen assignments from assholes who were supposed to have her back and Rashid breathing down her neck about making up for her absence. With all the nonstop stress her body was, quite frankly, in need of a good lay - and the only person available to give it to her had fucked off. 

She was so close to screaming. 

“Thought I’d left you high and dry?” 

She swiftly turned to be met with hands shoving her shoulders down onto the bed as a half-naked Altair climbed atop her in nothing but her underwear, mismatched and far from anything special; a simple set of navy pants and an old grey bra, but even then she still looked hot as a fucking coal mine. 

“Maybe that’ll teach you not to run off after making me this wet.” 

“You could do with learning a little patien-” 

The ticklish wet sensation of a tongue that blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flicked playfully against the very tip of her nose left Malik momentarily bewildered. It was such a simple display of affection, something seemingly unobtainable from Altair, and she wished she could summon a shred of disgust, but it was difficult to be annoyed when met with the lopsided grin brimming from the face hovering above her. 

Malik pulled her almost impossibly close, grasping a hand in her hair to retaliate with a crushing kiss. It was just as harsh as the first back in the club when Altair dragged her under the shadow of a stairwell and demanded the touch of her lips on hers. Now it was Malik who demanded, who thoroughly devoured her mouth in search of the tongue that dared to tease her. She could taste the alcohol, each drink that had led them here, back to her bedroom, and the night’s ventures behind them. How did they always end up like this? Drunk and tearing each other’s clothes off when she could have brought anyone home in this state. Malik wasn’t up for dissecting uncomfortable truths right now. The short version of the story was that Altair was accessible; that made hooking up substantially easier. 

They fought all lips and tongue, hands and hips, in a dire bid to take what they were due from each other. Not for the first time, probably not the last. Hands pulled at her trousers and soon they were off, thrown fuck knows where, and thighs were eagerly slotting between thighs. Altair ground down slow and hard, barely holding back a moan, and Malik could feel how soaked she was against her through the fabric of their underwear. Seeing her like this, vaguely human and not some killing machine that wandered between the lines of ‘arrogant arsehole’ and ‘cold-hearted bitch’, was becoming addicting to tread the lines of. Wrenching out each moan and cry of pleasure from her usual piss poor attitude, or the dead emotionless stare she had 95% of the time, was a drug in of itself and was what kept her coming back in the first place. She had no other excuse for this otherwise. So she did it again, pushing up as Altair pressed down and soon they were in sync, rutting and moaning, inching closer until thighs between legs became lower lips on lips, grinding back and forth towards completion. 

“Malik”, Altair muttered against the skin of her neck, so low she almost missed it, and another rush of arousal washed over her, her answering moan met with Altair’s mouth along her jawline, scattering a path up to her ear to nibble and pull on the lobe. It was apparent that at some point she’d catalogued the right spots of her body to touch, to tease and caress, because Malik was finding it hard to contain the pleasure-driven timbre clawing from her throat when Altair strove to press every single button of hers. She grappled for purchase against the lean flanks of her back, sliding hands up to tug her bra with the hungry need to rip it off. 

Altair pulled back and threw her a damnable smirk, but her wild-eyes gave away her hunger as her fingers fumbled too-quick with the bra clasp before flinging it across the room where it landed on her pathetically bare shelf and grabbed Malik’s hands to replace it. She was all too keen to oblige, squeezing the smooth flesh that she wanted nothing more than to kiss and feel the nipples harden on her tongue as she sucked and squeezed. So she sat up, not wanting to wait any longer and did just that. 

Strong fingers dug into her shoulders, thighs tightened around her, and Altair’s chest begun to rise and fall with breathless want, her body tensing delightfully over the sensitised touch. It wasn’t long before the sound of her moans grew and despite relishing in the noises she could coax from the woman, Malik wasn’t about to invite unwanted attention to their tryst. 

“I said be quiet,” she reminded her, regretting saying anything when Altair flung her head back and moaned a long, loud _‘Malik’_ on purpose that left her hastily throwing a hand over Altair’s mouth. 

“What the fuck.” 

Altair merely winked and nipped her hand, which didn’t hurt enough to dislodge it, but after Malik shot her a warning look, she slowly retracted it. 

“I knew it was a bad idea taking you back here.” 

“But you definitely won’t regret it.” She said and abruptly kissed her, pushing her back down onto the sheets, her long fingers creeping under the hem of her blouse to graze along the sensitive flesh of her belly and leaving a bloom of goosebumps in their wake. Each finger slowly tracked their way up over her ribs one by one only to be stopped by the unfair confines of her bra, large and restricting. Altair growled, pulling back from the kiss with a huff, then in one quick motion, she grabbed the blouse and ripped it apart. Buttons flew in all directions, pitter-pattering across the floor and Malik’s bed as she lay there staring at a loss, slowly realising Altair had just destroyed one of her favourite shirts. 

Under normal circumstances, she’d smack her upside the head – but these were not normal circumstances. 

A giggle pitched the air, carefree and girly, and it horrified Malik to find it was _herself_ giggling of all things. 

She was drunker than she’d thought. 

With a sorry attempt at a faked coughing fit to cover up whatever _that_ was, by the time she controlled herself Altair was casually sitting back atop her hips, head cocked with a small tweak at the corner of her lips rising. 

“Done, Al Sayf? I should rip your clothes off more often.” 

Malik groaned and closed her eyes, not wanting to be confronted by that unabashedly warm face, an expression rarer than diamonds and even more beautiful on Altair. Fuck, they were both drunker than she’d thought. 

She was sinking into the snug lucid embrace of a liquor dream, swimming vision now gone and what was left was the sweet tingle of relaxed muscles and eased tensions, her thoughts cushiony and mellow. It was only then she noticed the small caresses Altair was tracing along her navel. She opened her eyes again, meeting amber ones. Often she wondered what went on behind them. She always had since day one. It was just that Altair was not like anyone else she’d met, in both a good and a bad sense. 

Cruel and arrogant, deadly and unforgiving, Altair was not someone she ever liked when she’d first started working as an assassin, but over time working together somehow formed a kind of friendship, she guessed she could call it. Cruel in tone but not always in action, because she was crap at communicating like a normal person without sounding rude, and deadly with impressive talent that she’d dedicated herself to honing, Altair wasn’t as bad as she wanted everyone to believe. 

And then there were moments like these. The way she was in private once she’d let herself unwind with some alcohol and harsh words turned weirdly cute and fingers unexpectedly gentle. It felt almost loving if it weren’t for the fact it was only a fuck. 

Malik slid her hands up Altair’s athletic thighs and rubbed circles along her hip, thumbing at the waistband. 

“Take these off.” 

“I was right.” 

She didn’t respond right away, too caught up in imagining Altair undress. Judging by the irritating smugness that never seemed to get lost even in the times it was least needed, she probably didn’t want to know. 

“About what?” 

“You want me.” 

“I want you to shut your mouth before I shut it for you.” 

“Oh?” She quirked a brow, and lightly dragged her finger down Malik’s hip and across, inching ever so close to her opening. “You’re in no position to make demands of me, Malik.” 

And Altair was in no position to tell Malik what she could and couldn’t do. It didn’t take much to distract her: a well-placed thigh hitched between her legs, rubbing against her soon had her eyes were fluttering closed, and that was all Malik needed to grab her wrists and swing her leg round to topple her over onto her back, pressing Altair’s wrists down into the mattress. 

Malik smirked down at Altair. 

“Yes, I am.” 

Wiping the smile off her face was as good as seeing the look of displeasure replace it. She kept her there against her attempts to push and pull free, wriggling in frustration for a good couple of minutes until she gave up with an annoyed huff, eventually saying, “That’s what you think.” 

Malik ignored her sulking and rewarded her with a condescending pat to the face, dragging her thumb across to trace over the plump red lips. Pretty, but always let down by the words that left them. They had other uses, luckily. 

With a wink to mock her own, she pushed herself up to stand above her. From here she had a good view of Altair’s spread body, desire inked into the pink tinges of her skin and laid far more open and vulnerable than anyone at work had the pleasure of witnessing. The mentor’s number one master Altair was here in her bed – how was that for office gossip? 

Altair watched her suspiciously, confused by the change in position, and looked up at her questionably as if she thought they’d stopped. Malik merely smirked from where she stood, then, taking a hold of the band of her panties, she pushed them down seductively slow for Altair’s viewing pleasure and toed them off to one side. 

Altair gazed up, soaking in the naked body above her except for the bra and blouse still hanging ripped open from her shoulders. Malik felt the smug twist at her lips. She’d be lying if she didn’t say it felt good to cast Altair into silence with her body alone. And then, because she felt like she was going to explode with lust if she didn’t do anything soon, she brought her fingers down her navel, down through the small soft thatch of dark hair to her clit and played with herself. 

“Malik...” 

“Fuck Altair, do you know how many times I’ve had to imagine your tongue fucking me just to make it through this month?” 

Altair gulped. “Tell me.” 

“Every fucking day. I could barely stop myself from coming into your office just to have that mouth of yours. That’s what I want, and that’s what you will give me.” 

She lowered herself to kneel either side of Altair’s head, admiring the image of her face between her thighs, lips obscenely full and red like they were made for this job, for Malik’s pleasure. This would be worth the hangover. 

“Lick.” 

Altair’s pupils blackened, and immediately she obeyed. It was pure bliss when she was finally there, tongue and lips connected to her in a way that was so intimate, so needed that she had to watch to see how much Altair wanted it as much as she did, and the command she had over a master assassin who could not be commanded to do anything. It’s not like Altair was shy about it. She gave as good as she got, always eager to face up to a challenge. Her eyes burnt back in an unspoken taunt, willing a reaction out of Malik from the sheer determination of her tongue. It was just like her to apply competition even now, but she couldn’t complain about it when it felt this good. 

She started in long, torturously slow licks, lavishing all of her like a long-awaited treat to be savoured. Her fingers clawed at Malik’s thighs pulling them further open for the perfect angle to slot her even more against her mouth and sucked her clit. 

Malik’s head fell back, teeth biting her lips and hands grabbing a hold of the headboard as some grasp of reality. They’d only just begun and she’d already given up on trying to control herself. She started moving her hips up and down to the rhythm of Altair’s mouth, a clear signal for her to _‘hurry the fuck up’_ with her tortuous pace and got a stilling grab to her hips for the effort as Altair shot her a triumphant look. 

“Get a move on,” she said, attempting for demanding but more sounding desperate. 

“Mmm mm.” 

God knows what she said, Malik didn’t care, but now Altair was actually listening and moving faster, the slick sound of her tongue flicking back and forth and her lips sucking hot to Malik’s ears. 

She moaned, her breath becoming thick with lust. This was better than her fantasies when she was horny and alone with only the memory of Altair’s mouth to get her off. She was pathetic; it had only been a little under two months since they’d last had sex - she shouldn’t be this desperate but fuck was it good to have her mouth on her again. 

Altair’s hands roamed up her back and scraped her nails down in a body shuddering way until they reached her ass, squeezing the plump flesh before brandishing a slap upon the skin, and trailing further down her own body, her hand looking to ease her arousal as it slipped into her underwear and circled the swell of her clit. They fell into rhythm, Malik lulling her hips back and forth with the light tip of Altair’s tongue and Altair succumbing to the feel of her own fingers while she watched Malik fall apart with pleasure from her mouth alone. She listened to the small hitches of her breath, what each lick and suck did to her, and Altair’s belly clenched in elation when Malik spoke her name like a prayer to a holy deity when she delved her tongue inside of her as far as she could. 

“Fuck, Altair.” 

“Mmm?” 

“That feels so fucking good.” 

Altair made a pleased mewl and pulled back. 

“You like when I fuck you with my tongue, don’t you Malik?” 

“Yes!” 

“Then keep saying my name like that and I might let you come.” 

Altair kissed her swollen clit, mischief painted across her face before she went back to licking, tongue stronger and more insistent than before with her end goal in sight. She was going to make her come so hard she’d forget her own rules and wake everyone up with Altair’s name. Malik was too far gone to even care; She was flushed head to toe in a lustful heat and so wet Altair’s chin was drenched. 

When she brought her tongue down to her hole again, Malik eagerly pushed down upon it, longing to feel the slick curve of her tongue inside her. It may not be as long as fingers, or the toys she had stashed away, but she enjoyed the firm feel of her inside none the less. Her hands moved up her torso, squeezing herself through her bra before she pushed it up and exposed the full breasts so she could touch the sensitive skin and rub the taut nipples until she was a quivering mess. Altair groaned at the sight, basking in the show. 

Malik was moving closer to the edge now, pleasure pulsing thick and churning in the pit of her stomach, building a rapid wave that was moments from cascading. 

“Altair,” she moaned one last time and when her tongue swept over her clit, Malik was coming hard. Her hips stilled and her hands clutched the headboard to stop her from collapsing as every muscle seized in her body. It was an orgasm that came crashing through her, leaving her wrung out and left her ears ringing from how intense it was. She needed to breathe, to come back down and soon she slumped forward into the headboard, thoroughly done. It was the sweet euphoria of fulfilling a long-desired need that brought about the dopey smile that played upon her lips. 

Gradually she came back to her senses when she felt the long sweeping motions still lapping at her and had to pull herself off of Altair to stop the too sensitive touch. She thumped onto the bed next to her with a pleased sigh. 

“Good?” Altair smirked. 

Malik murmured her assent in what sounded like gibberish and peered over at Altair. She was heavily flushed, though still some level of composed despite everything. A far cry from Malik’s spent state. 

It was then she noticed her arm still moving. Malik looked further down and watched where her hand disappeared into her underwear, the fingers rubbing quick circles over her clit as if set on catching up to Malik’s orgasm. She didn’t realise she hadn’t been as close as Malik was. 

“You didn’t come.” 

“No shit. What were you expecting, for us to come together?” 

“Why not, you know I love to see you come from eating my pussy.” 

Altair looked away flushing so Malik captured the reddened slick lips with her own and sucked on the bottom before pulling back. 

“Let me help you.” She turned toward her, leaning up on one elbow and brought her other hand down the expanse of Altair’s body, smoothing along her hip and down along her hand, trailing past it to the satin skin of her thigh. She began tracing her nails along delicate skin, feeling the muscles pull and shudder under her touch. Teasing Altair was like teasing a lion; stupid and dangerous. But she had Altair tamed in the palm of her hand, and only she could give her what she wanted. 

Malik moved, coming to kneel at the end of the bed between Altair’s legs and grabbing the underwear to peel them off of her, eyes eating up her naked body. Altair remained focused on her, not particularly pleased by the full-on attention and lack of motion, so Malik massaged her hands along and up her legs, up and up until they were in the crease of her thighs, so close to her entrance Altair was staring at her in a silent plea. 

“Nothing to say?” She ventured, keeping her hands there. 

Malik was enjoying this. Altair always liked to have the upper hand, liked to be in control of the situation and herself, almost as much as Malik liked to watch her fall, and now that Malik had had her pleasure, that left all the attention for Altair’s - something which made the mulish woman oddly defiant, but she’d come to learn that it just took that little bit longer with Altair to coax her into letting go. Not something she’d expected to discover over the months from someone who usually had no problems taking whatever they wanted, and found it a tad endearing. 

Malik’s lips twitched in amusement at the bitten off moan that escaped Altair’s lips when she brushed a thumb lightly up and down over her wet folds, the velvety skin red and swollen with need and her sounds only half muffled by the turn of her head into Malik’s pillows. Fingers danced feather-light across her skin, seeking out what touch produced the best sounds, the best jolts, and when Altair spread her legs wider and dug a heel into her back to pull her closer, Malik couldn’t resist pushing two fingers inside of her. 

A low, throaty moan rang from the depths of Altair’s chest. She was tight and hot, her body yielding to her fingers and greedily accepting what it’d been waiting for the entire time - to be stretched and filled knuckles deep by Malik’s hand. She started slow and leisurely, content to watch her fingers disappear and reappear slicker than before every time she pushed into her, savouring the tiny gasps she could elicit from Altair when she crooked her fingers just the way she liked. Her pace must have been torture because she kept with it for as long as possible, that cruelly drawn-out motion of push and pull. 

“Why... why are you so slow?” 

Malik chuckled. 

“What do you need from me?” 

“You know that, for god’s sake.” 

“Do I? You look to be enjoying yourself. Maybe I’ll keep this up.” 

_“Malik.”_ She pleaded, and brought her fingers back down to her clit, touching herself again as Malik’s fingers moved within her. Only half a minute later did her hips begin to stutter into action, moving in time with Malik’s fingers, guiding herself upon them in an attempt to speed up the pace. 

Malik removed her hand. 

“Hey!” 

“Did you need something?” She asked casually, while Altair looked about ready to kill her. She looked stuck between a rock and a hard place, teeth grit against what was merely a simple answer. All she had to do was tell Malik what she wanted, and she would grant that wish. 

“We both know how this goes, Altair. You don’t always have to fight me, not when I’m more than willing to give you what you want.” 

She kissed the inside of her knee, Altair holding her gaze in thought, and Malik decided to make it easier for her, one finger tracing up and down her raw pussy. Altair’s eyes fluttered shut, her breath heavy until she was all but begging, “fuck me. I want you to fuck me.” 

Malik smiled victoriously and pushed one, then two fingers back inside again, rewarding Altair with a quicker pace and coaxing her hips back into action with expert fingers. Altair sighed in anticipation, moving with her. She loved being fucked deep and hard, being filled up to satisfaction. It was clear in the way she came undone whenever Malik was inside her. One of these days she swore she would buy a strap on with the sole purpose of fucking Altair with it. She didn’t care how presumptuous it sounded - she _would_ do it one day. 

Altair’s fingers on her clit led the rhythm, her hips and Malik’s fingers moving in time with the pace that was mounting, and soon Malik’s fingers were taking on unrelenting thrusts, coming up to meet Altair’s downward slams. It was fast and obscene to watch, and Malik felt like she was ready to come again from the sight of it alone. Altair was holding no bounds any longer and was going after the taking. 

She must have been close, they’d been there for what felt like hours, and sure enough, Altair started to make those high-end whines she did whenever she was growing hopelessly close and fisted the sheets with her free arm until they could’ve been ripped apart. Malik crooked her fingers, stroking her sweet spot, and all too suddenly Altair was keening beautifully before arching her back wide. She stilled her hips, only both their fingers moving as Altair was hit by her orgasm, undoing her entirely. 

Malik gently removed her hands and sucked on the wet digits before collapsing by her side. 

“Fuck,” she swore. Her body rose and fell against the sheets breathlessly, body scooting up to the warmth of Altair’s body that had more or less transcended into a loose, weak statue that was now dead to the world. 

“That was just what I needed.” 

Altair hummed in assent. She was too tired to talk or move, moulding her face into the pillow to get comfy as sleep descended upon her, not caring it was Malik’s bed. Malik didn’t mind. She watched Altair's face as sleep took over her, her face smoothing out and features softening with whatever stresses she was giving up to the night. A bare smile reached Malik’s lips, and she flung a sheet over them both before reaching over to shut the lamp and fall asleep herself, too far into her dreams to feel the circle of Altair’s arm fling over her. 

\-------- 

It was 4:51 am. That was what the digital clock flashing in front of her eyes from the other side of the bed was telling her. Malik groaned softly, her limbs feeling weak from sleep and head aching from too much alcohol. The harsh light wasn’t helping, so she turned over to ignore the angry red flashing of the clock in favour of more sleep. As she was just about to lull off, she remembered what had happened only hours earlier where she lay and was instantly awake again, raising her head to look around the room. 

Altair was gone. 

Hardly shocking. Altair never hung around after one of their sessions, exiting like she was never there to begin with. At least this time she was in her own home and didn’t have to walk back in the morning from some hotel or meet Altair for breakfast the next day during a mission where after sex she’d leave for her own hotel room across the hall wherever they were staying during the night. 

Malik groaned. She’d bought Altair back to her own home? What had she been thinking? She was drunk; she wasn’t thinking at all. As long as Kadar noticed nothing. Then she remembered her neighbour and oh great wouldn’t that be an awkward next meeting… 

Whatever. It was what it was, and Malik was too tired to think of the consequences. Next time she’d see Altair it would be just like nothing happened again, and she was fine with that. She snuggled deeper into the pillow and fell back asleep, the smell of Altair on her sheets a welcome scent.


End file.
